Chapter 28: The Tribe’s New Cook

"Grand Shaman... Grand Shaman?"

Selka's voice broke in after watching portion after portion vanish into Vaelira's mouth. When she finally caught her attention, the elder's face bore an expression of disbelief so stark you'd think the shaman had just done something far more incomprehensible than downing several bowls of soup.

Vaelira flinched, looked down at the dish in her hands, and only then realized she was still standing before nearly the entire tribe gathered to witness an execution - while she, for the past several minutes, had been primarily occupied with demanding seconds. A flush rose to her cheeks; she cleared her throat, drew herself up, and shifted her gaze to Seraya, attempting to salvage what remained of her dignity.

"So this is what you call soup?"

Seraya nodded, fighting back a smirk, since after four emptied bowls the question felt a little late.

"That's right, Grand Shaman. Did you like it?"

Vaelira gave another nod, a fraction too quickly for it to pass as a detached assessment. Selka's face twisted into an immediate scowl, eyeing the pot with deep suspicion, clearly convinced the whole thing had to harbor some kind of trick.

"Is it truly that good?" she asked, looking between the shaman and Seraya. "It's just water with food thrown in."

"Try it yourself instead of guessing," Seraya replied, reaching for the second bowl. She ladled out a modest portion and handed it to the elder with a courtesy so deliberate it was almost suspicious.

Selka accepted the dish as if performing a monumental favor, eyeing the contents for a moment, convinced that Vaelira had simply found an excuse to walk back her own threats without admitting to another blunder. The aroma was undeniably pleasant, to be sure, but even the best-smelling water couldn't suddenly turn into something so extraordinary that the Grand Shaman forgot about the entire tribe.

She took a cautious sip, held the bowl to her lips, and almost immediately tipped it back again. By the time Seraya shifted her gaze from Selka's face to her hands, only a few wet streaks remained at the bottom.

Selka lowered the dish, pressed her lips into a tight line, and for a beat looked as though she were searching with all her might for an answer that wouldn't involve admitting Seraya was right.

"It's tolerable," she said at last. "Nothing special."

The women standing closest looked from the licked-clean bowl to her face, and Seraya raised an eyebrow, sorely tempted to ask whether the elder ate the pottery too when something was genuinely delicious.

Right, nothing special... Another second and you'd have checked the bottom with your tongue.

"Then I want to try it too," one of the gatherers spoke up, edging closer, and the rest took up the call at once, craning their necks toward the pot and talking over each other.

"If it's that good, give us some too."

"Aye, we hauled the clay, didn't we?"

"Just a little, I want to taste it."

Seraya looked around at the faces surrounding her and felt the relief of avoiding a cracked skull give way to a far more mundane predicament: she had over a hundred curious women before her, one modest pot, and exactly two bowls.

"Easy, not all at once," she said, raising a hand before turning to Vaelira and Selka. "Give the bowls back, or we'll be staring into each other's eyes until dawn."

She had originally intended to share the bowls with Niva, and in her wildest dreams hadn't imagined that their first dinner together would devolve into a live cooking demonstration for a mob that had been out for her blood minutes ago. Now, however, she took both dishes back, enlisted the girl's help, and began doling out tiny portions, watching each reaction with mounting satisfaction.

Some women took tentative sips while others gulped it down, but almost every one of them glanced back at the pot after that first beat of surprise, as though discovering that the dirt dragged from the woods could indeed turn into something remarkable. Even Morra, who had accepted her bowl with clear awkwardness, lingered with her gaze on Seraya far longer than simple gratitude demanded after tasting the broth.

The first batch was gone before even a fraction of the crowd could taste it, so when Seraya dipped the ladle and heard the scraping sound against the bottom, she looked down into the pot with the face of someone reminded that all good things come to an end far too quickly.

"Gotta make another batch," she muttered, pointing Niva toward the remaining mushrooms before heading off for water, trying not to think about how fast her rations for the coming days were vanishing down other people's gullets.

By the time the second batch began to simmer, Seraya had rinsed the pot, prepped the remaining ingredients, and stoked the fire, while the gathered women sat or squatted nearby, clearly deciding that having walked all the way out here, they weren't leaving without a taste. Vaelira, Morra, and Selka lingered closest to the hearth, watching her movements with a fascination that would have seemed impossible shortly before.

Seraya stole a glance at them over the sticks she fed into the flame, then swept her eyes over the crowd, failing to spot a single soul still poised to charge at her screaming.

Well, look at that - no need to crack my skull open after all? All it took was pouring some soup, and suddenly you can all sit down like civilized people. It's almost irritating how fast you change your minds...

She rolled her sore shoulder, remembering the weight pinning her spine and the grit between her teeth, but when Vaelira cleared her throat, she turned around with an instantly polite smile; common sense warned her that gloating too early could backfire just as badly as a poorly fired pot.

"Warrior, this vessel..."

"Clay pot," Seraya supplied, pushing up from her crouch.

"Right, a pot," the shaman repeated, eyeing the steam rising from its rim. "Did you intend to use it for preparing food like this from the very start?"

"Why else would I ask for clay?" Seraya answered, spreading her hands. "You can boil all sorts of things in it, combine them, and actually use the broth, instead of letting everything that cooks out of the meat drip into the fire."

Vaelira studied the contents of the pot with closer focus, and Seraya pointed to the prepared mushrooms, resolving to explain it in terms that would keep anyone from viewing the pot as an expensive plaything again.

"A small cut of meat can flavor the entire dish if you add mushrooms or other wild edibles you gather from the woods. That way, not everyone needs their own slab of roasted meat just to have something warm and savory to eat."

Selka sneered, clearly feeling that if she stayed quiet any longer, everyone would forget why they had marched here in the first place.

"Adding water doesn't create more food."

Seraya glared at her in annoyance, but couldn't simply laugh off the remark this time; the elder had hit on something that the aroma of soup alone couldn't magically resolve.

"Water alone doesn't, no," she conceded. "But you can cook ingredients together that wouldn't be practical on their own, and you don't throw away what leaches into the broth. You still have to forage, but you make far better use of what you bring back."

Several women exchanged glances, and one gatherer looked at the mushroom scraps, as if comparing them to what she usually hauled into her cave. Soup couldn't replace a hunt, but the prospect of stretching a shared meal from varied ingredients was promising enough to spark quiet chatter about what else could be tossed into the pot.

Morra rubbed the back of her neck, the memory of both women hunched over clay - a sight she had taken as damning proof of slacking off - burning fresh in her mind. Now she stood beside a finished vessel, the taste of broth on her tongue, unable to find an easy excuse for why she hadn't even bothered asking Seraya what she was making.

Vaelira stepped closer, catching the warrior by the forearm, though this time her grip carried neither anger nor threat.

"So all of this truly was necessary?"

Seraya looked at the hand, then at the shaman's face. Seeing the sheepishness there, she leaned in slightly so her next words wouldn't carry to the entire crowd.

"I did mention brewing hot medicinal tonics from herbs, Grand Shaman," she reminded her softly. "What was I supposed to brew them in without a vessel?"

Vaelira looked away, color rushing back to her cheeks, because suddenly all of Seraya's earlier explanations sounded far more sensible than when heard surrounded by an angry mob. Seraya had indeed asked for clay to make pots, she had promised labor, and she now possessed a finished product - while Vaelira had marched here with an order to execute her for kneading the very mud from which that product was born.

I should have at least asked before giving the order...

Selka kept quiet as well, though her discomfort owed far less to concern for Seraya and far more to having just mocked the idea, only to lick her bowl clean before the entire tribe. She had no intention of warming up to the warrior, but it was hard to keep calling the pot useless mud when half the valley was waiting in line for seconds.

Seraya watched their expressions out of the corner of her eye while keeping watch over the fire, a thoroughly satisfying sense of triumph cutting through her earlier nerves.

Look at you feeling sheepish now... Good. Maybe next time you'll ask questions before plotting what to crack my skull with.

She didn't utter a word aloud, simply turning to Niva to ask for the bowls; the soup was nearly ready, and keeping everyone busy eating struck her as vastly safer than continuing to point out their mistakes.

Doling out the next batch took far longer than before, as Seraya served truly tiny portions to let as many women as possible have a taste. Niva helped collect and prep the bowls, her good spirits returning by the minute. Just moments ago she had been pulling warriors off a pinned Seraya; now those same women waited patiently for their turn, eyeing the pot with wonder and asking if future vessels would be just as useful.

The supplies were never meant to feed an entire tribe, however, so despite the stingy servings, both soup and ingredients soon ran out. Seraya scraped the wooden ladle along the bottom, setting it down with a heavy sigh.

"That's it. Nothing left."

The women who had gotten a taste kept talking about the flavor, while those who missed out stared with open disappointment, as if they had been personally cheated out of something far grander than a few swallows of broth. Among them stood Raska, who had been craning her neck toward the hearth for a good while, caring less and less about the charges and far more about whether a drop was left for her.

"Already gone?" she repeated, eyeing the pot in disbelief, before scowling and crossing her arms. "If you don't want to share with everyone, just say so instead of pretending."

Seraya turned her head slowly, her glare turning to stone; after tonight's welcome, Raska was the very last person she was going to take attitude from.

"The pot's right in front of you - take a look yourself," she replied. "I don't have a secret soup compartment under the bottom."

Raska darted a glance toward Vaelira and the elders, but finding no support, merely scoffed and backed off, glaring bitterly at the vessel that had failed to save her so much as a drop.

A lull fell over the clearing, and Vaelira seized the moment to step closer to Seraya, fixing her with a solemn look that carried no threat this time.

"You put the clay to good use, warrior."

It wasn't an outright apology, but spoken before the assembly, the words stripped all bite from the earlier accusations. Several women bowed their heads, and Morra finally looked Seraya dead in the eye, her expression heavy with embarrassment. Niva stepped closer to Seraya's side, as if only now daring to believe the evening wouldn't end in blood.

Seraya took the praise as calmly as possible, though inside she felt like throwing her arms wide and announcing she graciously forgave them all for attempting to murder her before dinner.

Fine, whatever... Just try using your heads next time before coming for mine.

Meanwhile, Vaelira looked back at the pot, her expression shifting in a way that really should have set off Seraya's alarm bells a lot sooner.

"I will ensure you receive more materials," she said. "If you need anything, report it to Morra. But I want vessels like this brought to the other caves as well."

Seraya's smile, blooming at the first half of the sentence, froze solid at the second. Her gaze darted from Vaelira to the crowd of waiting women.

Wait... The other caves? All of them?!

Memories of hauling timber, picking pebbles from clay, drying, the cracked bowl, and endless hours tending the flames rushed back, and whatever satisfaction she felt vanished in a flash.

I wanted something to cook dinner in, not to open a fucking pottery studio for the entire valley.

"Fu - " she started, cutting herself off in a hurry when the shaman raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?"

"I said that will take time," Seraya clarified, clearing her throat and tugging at her dirt-streaked sleeve. "Pots aren't easy to make. You have to prep the clay, shape them, wait for them to dry, and then fire them. Before every cave gets one..."

She trailed off, hoping Vaelira would catch the unsaid reality, but the shaman simply gave a pleased nod, taking it as a reasonable timeframe.

"We will wait," she declared. "At least now we know what we are waiting for."

Several women nodded along, and Seraya parted her lips, scrambling for an exit before her new job became set in stone.

"It's just that I can't make them all by myself right away..."

"You don't have to do it all at once," Vaelira cut in with an airy wave. "And until there are more vessels, you can show them how you prepare the soup. It's clear everyone enjoyed it."

The women answered with such a unified murmur of approval that Seraya stared at them in dumbfounded silence, gripped by the sinking feeling that she had just been sentenced to a punishment she hadn't even conceived of.

Did I really just get demoted from First Warrior to tribal cook and chief potter? Moments ago you were all trying to execute me, and now I'm supposed to cater your dinners?!

Vaelira, looking thoroughly pleased with her solution, offered a curt nod of farewell and turned back toward her cave, the rest of the women dispersing behind her, still buzzing about the soup and future cookware.

Seraya watched them go in stunned disbelief, taking a few strides after them and raising a hand, as if she could still revoke a verdict that was already sealed.

"Vaelira, wait, can we talk about this?!" she called out, but the shaman merely looked back over her shoulder with an appeasing wave, making Seraya throw her hands in the air.

"Dammit! I'm really not cut out to be the tribe's fucking cafeteria chef!"